The Memoirs of Victor Hugo | Page 9

basilic
vein," that is to say of cases in which the king ought to be slain; a
question which, once brought forward, met with such success that it
resulted in two kings, Henry III. and Henry IV., being stabbed, and a
Jesuit, Father Guignard, being hanged.
Then we passed to the details of the drama, situations, scenes, and
personages. Nodier pointed out that Faulconbridge is the same person
spoken of by Mathieu Paris as Falcasius de Trente, bastard of Richard
Coeur de Lion. Baron d'Eckstein, in support of this, reminded his
hearers that, according to Hollinshed, Faulconbridge, or Falcasius, slew
the Viscount de Limoges to avenge his father Richard, who had been
wounded unto death at the siege of Chaluz; and that this castle of
Chaluz, being the property of the Viscount de Limoges, it was only
right that the Viscount, although absent, should be made to answer with
his head for the falling of an arrow or a stone from the castle upon the
King. M. Roger laughed at the cry of "Austria Limoges" in the play and
at Shakespeare's confounding the Viscount de Limoges with the Duke
of Austria. M. Roger scored the success of the evening and his laughter
settled the matter.
The discussion having taken this turn I said nothing further. This
revelation of Shakespeare had moved me. His grandeur impressed me.
King John is not a masterpiece, but certain scenes are lofty and
powerful, and in the motherhood of Constance there are bursts of
genius.
The two books, open and reversed, remained lying upon the table. The
company had ceased to read in order to laugh. Nodier at length became
silent like myself. We were beaten. The gathering broke up with a
laugh, and our visitors went away. Nodier and I remained alone and
pensive, thinking of the great works that are unappreciated, and amazed
that the intellectual education of the civilized peoples, and even our
own, his and mine, had advanced no further than this.
At last Nodier broke the silence. I can see his smile now as he said:

"They know nothing about the Romancero!"
I replied:
"And they deride Shakespeare!"
Thirteen years later chance took me to Rheims again.
It was on August 28, 1838. It will be seen further on why this date
impressed itself on my memory.
I was returning from Vouziers, and seeing the two towers of Rheims in
the distance, was seized with a desire to visit the cathedral again. I
therefore went to Rheims.
On arriving in the cathedral square I saw a gun drawn up near the portal
and beside it gunners with lighted fuses in their hands. As I had seen
artillery there on May 27, 1825, I supposed it was customary to keep a
cannon in the square, and paid little attention to it. I passed on and
entered the church.
A beadle in violet sleeves, a sort of priest, took me in charge and
conducted me all over the church. The stones were dark, the statues
dismal, the altar mysterious. No lamps competed with the sun. The
latter threw upon the sepulchral stones in the pavement the long white
silhouettes of the windows, which through the melancholy obscurity of
the rest of the church looked like phantoms lying upon these tombs. No
one was in the church. Not a whisper, not a footfall could be heard.
This solitude saddened the heart and enraptured the soul. There were in
it abandonment, neglect, oblivion, exile, and sublimity. Gone the whirl
of 1825. The church had resumed its dignity and its calmness. Not a
piece of finery, not a vestment, not anything. It was bare and beautiful.
The lofty vault no longer supported a canopy. Ceremonies of the palace
arc not suited to these severe places; a coronation ceremony is merely
tolerated; these noble ruins are not made to be courtiers. To rid it of the
throne and withdraw the king from the presence of God increases the
majesty of a temple. Louis XIV. hides Jehovah from sight.
Withdraw the priest as well. All that eclipsed it having been taken away,
you will see the light of day direct. Orisons, rites, bibles, formulas,
refract and decompose the sacred light. A dogma is a dark chamber.
Through a religion you see the solar spectre of God, but not God.
Desuetude and crumbling enhance the grandeur of a temple. As human
religion retires from this mysterious and jealous edifice, divine religion
enters it. Let solitude reign in it and you will feel heaven there. A

sanctuary deserted and in ruins, like Jumièges, like St. Bertin, like
Villers, like Holyrood, like Montrose Abbey, like the temple of
Paestum, like the hypogeum of Thebes, becomes almost an element,
and possesses the virginal and religious grandeur of a savannah or of a
forest.